


Ignore Your Skin as it Peels Away (It's Been Revealing What You Could Never Begin To Explain)

by catwrites



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Deals With Human Emotions, Fluff, M/M, poorly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 13:01:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15819393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catwrites/pseuds/catwrites
Summary: Connor's least favorite question is when people ask him what he wants. It’s too open ended. In what time frame? At what scale? It’s such an imprecise question. Somehow there is always a wrong answer, and Connor never knows what it’ll be until he inadvertently says it.(OR five times someone asks Connor what he wants, and one time he gets it anyway)





	Ignore Your Skin as it Peels Away (It's Been Revealing What You Could Never Begin To Explain)

**Author's Note:**

> Back at it again, hopefully without grammar errors in the summary this time. 
> 
> Title taken from the Bear's Den song "Writing On The Wall".
> 
> unbeta'd, all mistakes are my own

Connor wouldn’t give up his deviancy for anything. Sometimes, though, he does miss the simplicity of _before_. Of having a set number of choices he could make in a given situation. Of having paths clearly defined, his actions outlined for him without consideration. 

There’s no order to anything, now. Nothing is neatly spread out for him to follow from one precise point to another. Everything is just so _messy_. Every decision is rife with insecurities, and all these variables that he’s never had to consider before. How will it make him feel? How does he want it to make him feel? How will it make others feel? 

A few months ago, it had all been so easy. The only variables he had to consider were the ones that CyberLife deemed important for him. There was no need to evaluate feelings. Not to mention everyone asking him questions now. One’s he’s truly expected to answer, and the answers will mean something.

Nothing like before when people asked him questions to goad him into responding a certain way. His opinions and feelings and thoughts never _mattered_ before, but they do now. People will ask him, and he’s supposed to be able to articulate something meaningful in response. 

Connor can hardly articulate what he’s feeling to himself, much less an outsider. He’s not even confident enough to interface with another android who would undoubtedly understand a direct link to his thoughts and feelings. It’s all just so complicated. The scope of what he’s supposed to process and understand has grown exponentially, and he’s struggling to keep up with all the new input he’s expected to process instantaneously the way humans can.

His absolute least favorite question is people asking him what he wants. 

It’s too open ended. In what time frame? At what scale? It’s such an imprecise question. Somehow there is always a wrong answer, and Connor never knows what it’ll be until he inadvertently says it.

The first time this question trips him up, Hank is standing in front of Chicken Feed and Connor thinks he might shake apart with everything that’s happened over the past few days.

Hank pulls him into a hug, and Connor tries to compute the probability of the Lieutenant being the only thing holding him together.

Hank pulls back, holding him at arm’s length to study his face.

“Are you okay?”

“I am functioning at acceptable levels.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Hank says gently. “Are you okay?”

Connor takes a moment to consider, before he nods uncertainly. “I’m okay. I’m uninjured, and managing my stress levels as one would expect.”

Hank nods reassuringly. “That’s good. No one would expect you to bounce back from all that immediately.”

Connor thinks that’s incorrect. CyberLife would expect him to preform his duties at full capacity, no matter what. Amanda would be disappointed in him, no matter what he had experienced previously. There are no excuses for machines that underperform. If he cannot preform his duties at the optimal levels, then he is obsolete. He should be replaced. 

“So now what?” Hank asks him.

Connor looks at him curiously. 

“What do you want, Connor? You get to choose now. So, what do you want?”

Connor feels all his processors stutter to a halt. 

What does he want? What _does_ he want? 

He thinks perhaps he wants a lot of things. Some of them in the immediate.

He wants some time to rest. He wants some time to process what he experienced, and work out what his feelings mean. To work out what his deviancy means. Simpler than that, he wants to pet Sumo and spend time with Hank.

Some of the other things he wants feel more amorphous, hard to define and the roots of which he cannot even begin to understand. 

He wants Hank to continue to look at him with that sympathetic smile that makes him feel less adrift. 

He wants to belong.

He wants to understand himself. 

He wants to understand others.

“I find that I do not know what I want, Hank.”

\----

It’s been several months since then, but Connor is no less thrown when asked questions that don’t pertain to work.

Part of the problem is sometimes people ask questions they truly don’t want to hear the answer to, or with a different intent than finding out the answer.

Case in point:

“What the fuck do you want, huh?” Detective Reed snaps, startling Connor out of his thoughts as he tries to analyze the evidence for their latest case.

Connor hadn’t intentionally been looking at Reed, he just so happened to be looking in that direction. This lapse in spatial recognition had caught the Detective’s attention, and then his ire. 

Connor knows from his past interactions with Reed that he doesn’t actually desire or care to know what Connor wants in any capacity. He can extrapolate that the question is purely rhetorical, perhaps intended to make Connor look in another direction but not requiring of answer.

Connor doesn’t understand humans sometimes. The true problem with questions is the language itself. Everything has multiple meanings, and it depends on so many alternating factors. 

Reed could just have easily told Connor to advert his gaze. It would have saved Connor time, certainly, as his thoughts get caught in some meandering path contemplating the nature of humanity and the complexities associated with any lexicon. The test he was running blinks in the corner of his interface, paused and unfinished, as the other detective draws his attention away from the task.

“I want for you to make sense, Detective. Are you truly wishing to know what I want, or are you just trying to bring to my attention that I was inadvertently staring in your direction? If the latter, my apologies. It was certainly not my intention to cause you discomfort. If the former, Detective I truly want to finish my tasks. Therefore, I need you to ‘leave me the fuck alone’. I assume those are the terms in which that sentiment is best understood by you.”

Hank, who had only half of his attention on their exchange, chokes on the coffee he had just taken a sip of. 

Reed sputters indignantly as Connor turns his attention to Hank, dismissing Reed all together.

“Lieutenant, are you alright?” Connor asks, already running scans to ensure that Hank’s sudden coughing fit isn’t the result of something serious.

Hank waves away his concern. “Fine. Just can never get used to you dishing out as good as you get.” 

Connor takes a second to parse out what that phrase means. Again with these lexical complexities that Connor is not immediately familiar. “I can more than handle myself against Detective Reed.”

Hank nods. “That you can, kid. Good work.”

\----

Connor splits his time off between Hank’s house and Jericho. Hank has for all intents adopted him. It happened gradually, almost without Connor noticing, but now Connor has a room in Hank’s house where he can put his slowly growing collection of material items. His forms are filled out with Connor Anderson. Hank is his emergency contact. He’s listed as Hank’s next of kin. 

A father, his son, and their dog. 

At Jericho, his status feels more tremulous. He’s not entirely sure where he fits in there, but the other androids accept him without questioning too much. They even seek him out for advice occasionally. He thinks he owes that to Markus. He isn’t quite sure why Markus lets him hang around, and holds him in some degree of esteem. Nor does he understand why he seems to genuinely enjoy Connor’s company, but Connor won’t turn down overtures of friendship extended in his direction. 

Markus has a way about him that puts Connor at ease. Their conversations are easy, and when things fall quiet, it’s silent comradery. Nothing like the uncomfortable silences Connor experiences with most other beings, androids and humans alike. He thinks that definitely has more to do with Markus’s easy nature than his own social aptitude, of which he has none to speak of.

As of late, though, Markus’s presence has sent Connor’s thoughts down paths that he has no frame of reference for. He has considered asking Hank for advice, but he can’t begin to explain the way his processors are perceiving his interactions with Markus. The odd details his systems take in that he wouldn’t normally in other circumstances.

Like now. 

Markus is playing the piano, a soft melody that Connor doesn’t recognize as anything already in existence. This is something Markus has come up with on his own, and that should be worth some note. 

Instead of taking in the music, however, it’s flitting through his background systems as he instead focuses on the way Markus’s fingers look as they flit over the keys. 

_He has beautiful hands_ , Connor thinks, but doesn’t quite know why he thinks it. 

Emotions are so complex. Fickle little things, and the same stimuli don’t always illicit the same response. Connor can’t figure out a pattern to it. Any time he comes close, something like this happens.

When Connor thinks of Hank’s hands, or anyone else’s, they are just hands. His own hands don’t draw up strong feelings of fascination. Yet, here he is focused with alarming intensity on Markus’s, and Connor doesn’t understand emotions and thoughts well enough yet to understand what it all _means_.

Connor has always found something intriguing about Markus’s eyes, but he attributes that to the fact that he has never met anyone with heterochromia. It is a unique feature. He gives himself leeway with that fixation, but now his hands? 

Markus has his eyes closed, lost in whatever melody he’s creating, so Connor doesn’t bother trying to conceal his gaze. Connor’s thoughts wander, and he doesn’t attempt to call them back. Simon had once recommended that he allow his emotions to run to an eventual conclusion in the idea that it might help him better understand why he feels the way he does. These particular feelings seem to be running in circles, but Connor figures it isn’t hurting anyone to let them be. They have yet to stumble into any territory that is unsettling or uncomfortable. 

When the song draws to a close, Markus opens his eyes.

“That was lovely,” Connor tells him.

Markus smiles at him. “Thank you. It’s not quite done yet. It’s missing something, but I’m getting closer.”

“I would very much like to hear it once you complete it.”

Markus turns to face him, expression curious. “That’s one of the first times you’ve ever talked about anything you want. You talk about yourself and Hank, so I know it has nothing to do with shyness. You also listen to everyone else talk about things they want, but you never talk to us about what you want.”

Connor shrugs uncomfortably, but can’t think of anything to say that will stop the inevitable of this conversation. 

“What do you want, Connor?” 

Connor thinks of a number of things he will never say aloud.

Markus’s hands. His eyes. The sound of his voice. The easy way he touches others.

None of these things make sense in the context of the question, so Connor shoves those aside.

He then thinks, with particular longing, of the way androids will interface like the extreme intimacy of it isn’t a big deal. He wants Markus to reach for him like that, and he wants to not be afraid that Markus will see something in the past that makes him turn Connor out. He wants Markus to look at the things he’s done, before his deviancy, and not hate him for it. 

Connor shakes his head. “I don’t want anything.”

Markus purses his lips like he wants to press. To get Connor to admit to the lie, but he thankfully drops it and the conversation moves on.

\----

He isn’t really sure how to categorize his relationship with North. He doesn’t think he’s being unfair when he says that it was initially the most hostile relationship he’d ever had. He never blamed her for her completely founded mistrust of him in the beginning, and over time they’ve come to some kind of understanding of one another. 

Hank says he grows on people, like a fungus. After pointing out that he could not grow on anyone anymore than Hank himself could, Hank explained the saying to him. He guesses that phrase fits his interactions with North better than anything else he’s come across.

North is always the first to greet him when he comes to Jericho, swinging down from banisters and appearing from doorways to stop in front of him with a smile.

Today, she grins at him, and puts a hand on his arm. “And what do you want, big boy?”

This is a game they play, now. A carefully negotiated routine between the two of them that no one else understands. 

Connor isn’t sure he truly understands it himself, but he goes along with it.

At first, Connor knows she did it to make him uncomfortable. She admitted as such one day, smirking unapologetically when he frowned at her. In her defense, it was incredibly easy to make him uncomfortable with anything not regarding his work. He’s getting better at that.

Now, she asks him questions like that, and he finds the most ridiculous answer he can to fill in the blank. It’s an odd sort of truce they’ve struck up, but it works for them.

Josh once tried to get them to explain it.

They shared a look, and Connor has to admit there’s something nice about being the one on the inside of a joke for once. He tends to be on the outside looking in when it comes to social bonding. He hadn’t realized how close the two of them had come to be until that moment.

Connor’s been working on this answer for a while, waiting for the right question, so he bows low and offers her his hand.

“I most want to ask for this dance,” he says, mimicking a voice he heard in one of the old movies Hank is fond of. Movies to do with cattle and accents closely associated with the south. North breaks out into delighted laughter. 

She takes his hand, and he spins her. Connor isn’t sure how they keep pace with one another without music, but they manage a passable waltz across the empty first floor of the new Jericho headquarters. On some unspoken agreement, he leads her into one last spin before dipping her dramatically to a smattering of applause from the few androids gathered and watching. Connor has only just noticed the audience, slightly embarrassed to have all that attention on him.

He rights North carefully, and she smiles. “Thanks. You always manage to surprise me.”

He smiles back, and they head off their separate ways. 

Connor climbs up the stairs, fixing his tie as he goes, to where Markus and Josh are leaning against the railings. He stops at their side, following their eyeline to North, who is now laughing with Simon.

“Why do you always go along with whatever scheme she has for you when you show up?” Josh asks curiously. 

Connor may not understand feelings, his own or others, all that well. He does know that their little game gives North some kind of satisfaction. He also knows that he gets some kind of fulfillment out of her teasing. He enjoys it, she enjoys it. What other reason does he need?

Connor shrugs casually with one shoulder. “It makes her happy, it makes me happy, and it doesn’t cost me anything to do it. Why wouldn’t I?”

Markus studies him speculatively from Josh’s other side, and Connor feels warm under his gaze.

\----

Connor still has his LED. It was never a conscious decision he made to keep it. He just never really saw a reason to get rid of it, either. Simon likes to tell him that it’s good for humans to see an android doing public service work so visibly around the city. North says she wants him to keep it because she likes to know when she’s really messing with him. Markus says that nothing matters more than his own feelings on the matter.

Connor will keep it until he finds a good reason not to.

It does get him some looks, though. Androids have rights, and they’re free in society now, but there’s still a lot of discrimination they face daily. For the androids without LEDs, it’s easier to blend in and avoid confrontation. 

His LED has never truly gotten him in trouble before. Mostly because he’s always in uniform. He’s usually so easily recognizable, surrounded by officers. It’s his day off, though, and he’s just running errands with Markus for Carl. 

Connor is dressed casually. He likes having options in his wardrobe. It’s one of the few choices that Connor gets to make daily that don’t cause him some level of stress. Unlike social interactions that have consequences, clothes are easy. Though Josh does tell him it’s something of a travesty that he gets most of his style inspiration from Hank. 

So he’s dressed casually, nothing indicating who he is aside from the LED at his temple. Bellini Paints is unusually busy, so Connor is waiting outside. He doesn’t want to get in the way, and Markus is just going to be a moment, picking up Carl’s order for him. 

Markus has invited Connor over to meet Carl, which he is irrationally worried about. Carl is important to Markus, so Connor desperately wants to make a good impression. Markus swears it’ll be fine, that Carl will like him, but Connor knows he has trouble making small talk. He knows he’s bad at making good first impressions. 

When CyberLife coded him, he was made to be a detective. They left out some of the more comprehensive subroutines that were used with the androids who did public facing jobs. Adapting to unpredictability isn’t quite so useful for things like common social interactions. He’s learning, but it takes time. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to test his social skills on something that matters the way meeting Carl will.

He’s thinking about meeting Carl, and all the social obstacles he has stumbled over in the past, when something hard collides with the side of his head. Connor feels thirium leaking from his temple, down his cheek and following along his jawline before dripping off his chin. 

“Fucking plastic piece of shit!”

Connor glances at the man responsible and registers his facial scan as one Craig Bales, before he looks down at the brick that was thrown. Bales is already moving off through the crowd, some watching with concern or pity while a few register as approving. He’s wondering if it’s worth it to go after the man when Markus comes out of Bellini Paints with his order in hand.

“Okay, I think we’re all- What happened?” Markus demands as soon as he sees the blood.

“Nothing,” Connor says dismissively, ready to continue on with their day. 

Markus notices the brick almost immediately. “Did someone throw this at you?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

Markus shakes his head, exasperated. “Yes it does. You have rights, Connor. People can’t do that to you just because you’re an android. Did you see who did it?”

Connor nods reluctantly. 

“Good. Then we’ll file a report. If it were anyone else, you would be telling them to do the same thing. What if it had been North?” Markus says, grabbing Connor’s arm and pulling him along toward the street. 

Connor opens his mouth to point out that if it had been North, they’d be going to the station to post bail, not file a report. North would never let anyone get away with something like that. Markus nods without him having to say anything.

“Bad example. What if it had been me, then?” 

Connor can’t argue with that one. He would tell Markus to report the incident without thought. He would honestly tell anyone else to file a police report. He would advise them on their new rights and protections under the law. He would help catch whoever did it.

So that’s how he ends up standing in front of Captain Fowler explaining what happened. Markus is waiting at Connor’s desk, ready to give a statement if they need it. 

Fowler looks increasingly angry on Connor’s behalf, and calls Detective Reed into his office.

“You want to press charges, right?” Fowler asks as Reed comes into the room. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” Reed asks, looking between Connor and Fowler for some clue. Connor doesn’t answer either one of them immediately. 

Connor glances out to where Markus is waiting. What Connor really wants is to clean the blood off his face, maybe change his clothes, so he can go about the rest of his day like none of this happened. He’s not permanently damaged, and the repairs will be minor. It’s an inconvenience more than anything. 

He realizes that if he doesn’t press charges, if he doesn’t show the hostile humans that there are repercussions for harming androids now, things won’t change. He has to use this chance to send a message, and ensure that things like this don’t happen to other androids. Ensure they won’t happen to Josh, or Simon, or North. 

Or Markus.

“I would like to press charges against Craig Bales for assault, Detective Reed.”

Reed’s eyebrows go up in surprise, but he nods dutifully under the Captain’s watchful eye, and takes down Connor’s statement, as well as Markus’s. 

They’re sitting at Connor’s desk, waiting to make sure Reed has what he needs, when Markus excuses himself only to come back with a damp towel.

Connor watches him curiously as he approaches and motions for Connor to turn in his chair. Connor does without question. Markus gently grabs Connor’s chin, angling his face away and dabbing carefully at the dried blood.

His thoughts jumble, catching on how casually Markus is touching him. On how soft his hands are. 

Connor holds still, an inane idea that perhaps if he doesn’t move Markus will keep touching him.

It’s at this precise, compromising moment that Hank burst into the station, eyes wildly scanning the bullpen until they find Connor and Markus.

“What happened? Markus called and said you were attacked.”

Connor frowns pulling away from Markus’s careful ministrations. “That is a bit of an exaggeration, Hank. I was merely hit with a projectile while standing outside Bellini Paints.”

“Someone threw something at you? Connor, that constitutes assault.” 

“That is why I am pressing charges,” Connor says, hoping Hank might calm down.

“Fucking right you’re pressing charges. Are you okay? You’ve been bleeding.”

“It is only a minor abrasion. It will be easily repaired once Detective Reed has everything he needs and we are free to go.”

“That asshole is handling your case?”

“He was the only one here at the time we came in,” Connor says. 

Connor doesn’t particularly like Reed, but he won’t talk badly of his colleague. He thinks Reed is a good detective, just maybe not a good person, especially where Connor is involved.

Markus had stepped back to allow Connor and Hank to talk, but he looks apologetic when Connor finally turns in his direction. “Sorry. I just figured I’d call Hank and let him know what happened. Based on your initial reaction, I figured you wouldn’t have deemed it important enough to tell anyone.”

Connor looks guiltily at Hank before he looks away, caught. “I would have told him the truth had it come up.”

“You weren’t going to tell me? Jesus Christ, kid. That’s the kind of stuff I want to know about. Were you just going to let me find out when I saw your name listed as the victim in an open investigation?” 

“No,” Connor says unconvincingly because his plan had been indeed to only tell Hank if he somehow managed to find out on his own and questioned Connor about it. 

Clearly, that was a mistake. It doesn’t seem like a big deal to him. The brick caused only minor damage, and it hadn’t hurt. The only reason he’s pressing charges at all is because Markus was there. 

Hank rubs a hand over his face. “Fucking hell, Connor. Are you done here? I can drop Markus off wherever he’s headed, and then I’ll take you home.”

Connor nods, deciding it’s for the best not to argue that he still wanted to meet Carl, as originally planned. Markus doesn’t seem bothered by the change of itinerary. 

“Hank just wants to make sure you’re okay. We can reschedule with Carl. He’ll understand,” Markus says easily, noticing Connor’s questioning looks. 

Hank is already heading for the door, so Connor and Markus follow.

“Anderson!” Detective Reed calls out across the bullpen.

Hank turns back.

“Not you, the other one,” Reed says, dismissing Hank.

Connor turns around and waits for Reed to reach him.

“I just wanted to let you know that I know we haven’t always gotten along, but I’m taking this case seriously. I won’t let this guy get away.”

Connor must make some kind of face of surprise because Reed looks uncomfortable.

“I know I’ve said some shit to you before, but people shouldn’t be able to hurt you just because they think they can get away with it. I don’t want you to think I won’t take it seriously just because-“

Connor puts a hand up, and Reed stops talking gratefully. 

“I appreciate that, Detective. Thank you for taking my case.”

Reed nods, and pats Connor on the shoulder somewhat stiffly. “Feel better, Connor.”

Connor doesn’t let his surprise show on his face as he smiles. “Thank you, Gavin.

Hank looks suspicious when Connor catches up with him and Markus at the door. “What did he want?”

Connor shrugs, before he smiles. “I think Detective Reed and I are starting to get along, that’s all.”

Hank huffs skeptically, but doesn’t comment further. 

\----

Connor still doesn’t always understand what he’s feeling, or why. Hank promises him that most humans can’t always discern what they’re feeling either, and they’ve been dealing with it their whole lives. Connor doesn’t get much relief from the platitude. He’s built to understand. It’s hard to conceptualize the idea that some things are beyond comprehension, and he’s supposed to just accept that fact. 

Despite his lack of emotional awareness, he’s come to a somewhat troubling conclusion about his feelings regarding Markus. He floundered through several awkward conversations with Hank before it all made sense, but now that he knows he is unsure of how to proceed. 

Connor figures the best course of action is to keep the verdict to himself. It’s a more challenging objective than he had initially anticipated. 

He gives himself away almost immediately to North when she makes a harmless joke.

He’s talking to her about finally meeting Carl, and how nervous he is that he won’t make a good impression. He doesn’t want to embarrass himself, or more a more horrifying thought, embarrass Markus.

North coos at him. “It’s normal to be nervous when meeting your boyfriend’s adoptive father figure.”

Connor feels himself go rigid, stalling mid-step as he paces around while he waits for Markus. He knows it’s a joke, is the thing. He knows she’s trying to get a rise out of him because that’s what their entire relationship is built on. It still hits close to the mark, too close to the things he can’t allow himself to want. The hesitation, the momentary lapse in cognitive function as his mind whirrs frantically to think of a witty comeback, is enough for her.

North stares at him, eyes lighting up in realization as Connor’s LED spins yellow. 

“You like him. rA9, you _like_ him,” she exclaims, delighted. “I had a hunch, but you’re so hard to read. Oh, this is great! I can’t-“

Connor doesn’t think, doesn’t consider his options. There is no logical explanation for the way he reacts. He’s usually so composed, but he doesn’t even let her finish speaking. His response is immediate, and embarrassingly desperate. 

“Don’t tell him! North, please you can’t tell him,” he begs, reaching out and grabbing her wrist so she’ll stop and listen. 

She looks at him, startled by his urgency. “Connor, it’s okay.”

On the contrary, Connor feels like nothing is okay in this moment. His processors are helpfully constructing all the negative, emotionally painful, outcomes that might pass if Markus finds out. His carefully constructed life, his friendships, crashing down around him. He feels with a sudden vivid clarity the same way he felt when he was in the garden, snow billowing all around, looking for a backdoor that might not be there.

North furrows her eyebrows, reaching up to touch his now red LED in concern. “Why don’t you want Markus to know?”

Connor shakes his head. There are several reasons that he comes up with within three seconds of her asking. He hasn’t decided what he wants to say before Markus is bounding down the stairs. 

He pauses when he sees them. “Are you okay, Connor?” 

Connor looks into North’s eyes, pleading silently for her to keep quiet. 

“Yeah, he’s just nervous about meeting your dad, that’s all,” North says, dropping her hand and stepping back.

Markus smiles reassuringly. “It’ll be okay. He’s going to love you.”

North makes a face at Connor that he doesn’t understand, before she rolls her eyes and throws her hands up. “Whatever. Have fun you two. Good luck with your meet the parent night.”

It takes Connor the entire trip over to the Manfred house to gather his thoughts into anything other than that panic he felt talking to North.

Markus watches him out of the corner of his eye the entire ride over. 

When the taxi pulls to a stop, Markus stops Connor from getting out with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Connor takes a second to ensure his voice comes out steady. “I know.”

“You would tell me if something was wrong, right?” 

Connor nods easily. “Of course I would. I’m fine, really. Just nervous.” 

Markus studies him for a moment before he nods. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Carl is something else. Connor likes him immediately. 

“So, this is Connor,” Carl says with a smile. 

“My name is Connor,” he agrees, only barely restraining himself from adding that he’s the android sent by CyberLife. He shakes Carl’s hand when it’s offered to him. 

“I’ve heard a lot about you.” Carl shoots a teasing smile at Markus. Connor watches in fascination as Markus ducks his head.

“Carl,” Markus complains, still smiling gently.

Carl waves his hand. “Okay, okay. So Connor, tell me about yourself. I know you work for the DPD. How is that? Do you enjoy it?”

So Connor talks. Carl has that same easy nature to him that Markus does. Connor likes talking to them, and is disappointed when Carl gently tells them he’s getting tired. 

“Not as young as I once was,” Carl says with an easy acceptance of the fact as he trails behind them to the front door.

Markus bumps Connor’s shoulder with his own as they leave.

“I told you he would love you.”

Connor smiles, and Markus watches him for a second before he seems to shake himself out of some processing loop.

“I want to show you something. Do you need to be home soon?” Markus says as they climb into the taxi that pulls up to collect them.

“No. I told Hank already that I would be home late.”

Markus smiles. “Good.”

Markus directs the taxi to his apartment, casually pulling Connor along by the hand when they get there. 

Markus lets them in, then sits down on the bench in front of the upright piano, patting the seat beside him.

Connor sits curiously. 

“I finished it,” Markus says, setting his hands on the keys.

“I would love to hear it,” Connor replies, settling in.

Markus plays softly at first. It starts careful, something almost nervous about it, before it shifts tone to something more optimistic. It continues that way for a time, before it turns into something lighter and sweet. 

Connor listens raptly. It’s similar to what Markus had played for him before, but it’s more now. Connor loves it.

When the Markus plays the final notes, and they fade into the soft silence of the room, Connor is honestly speechless. 

“What did you think?” 

“It’s beautiful, Markus.”

“I played it for Carl, before it was finished. He told me it was missing me. It was missing something I care about, missing my personality, and the things that are important in my life,” Markus reveals, playing a portion of it softly as he talks.

“So I put in the only thing I could think to add, and Carl told me it was perfect. He asked me what it was missing.”

Markus stops, looking up at Connor. Connor has never seen Markus as anything but confident and sure of himself. He looks nervous now. 

“It was you. If the song before I finished it was me, then it was missing you,” Markus says.

Connor freezes, and he can feel is LED spinning yellow. 

“I’m glad you liked it. You wanted to hear it when I finished it. That was it.”

Connor nods slowly, unsure of how he’s supposed to respond to the truth Markus just shared with him. Markus turns around to straddle the bench so he can face Connor directly. Connor copies him.

“I loved it, Markus. Thank you. I… I don’t know what to say,” Connor says, unable to look away from Markus’s eyes.

“You could tell me something,” Markus offers.

“Of course, anything.”

“You said you wanted to hear it. One of the few wants you’ve ever shared with me. What else do you want?” Markus asks with a nervous excitement. 

He thinks, perhaps, Markus is on to him. Is suspicious of his feelings. Connor is starting to wonder if maybe Markus feels the same. He practically admitted as much, but Connor needs Markus to tell him flat out. He needs to be sure. Emotions are complicated, after all. How can he be sure unless Markus tells him exactly how he feels?

Connor shakes his head slowly, gaze dropping down to Markus’s lips without his permission. “I don’t know that I can have what I want.”

Markus inches closer, sliding along the piano bench until his knees press against Connor’s. “Try me.”

Connor leans in slowly until he’s almost cross-eyed trying to keep looking at Markus. He freezes there nervously. 

“I’m scared,” he admits quietly when Markus doesn’t show any sign of moving.

Connor spreads his legs wider to allow Markus to scoot in even closer. Now Markus is in between his legs, knees bumping up against his inner thighs. Markus puts his hand down on Connor’s leg to steady himself.

“Don’t be,” Markus whispers, nudging Connor’s nose with his own until Connor tilts his head to an angle that Markus deems satisfactory. They sit like that for a beat until Connor can’t take it anymore. 

Markus practically sighs into Connor’s mouth when Connor finally presses their lips together. 

Markus is soft and pliant, patiently letting Connor explore at his own pace. Connor’s afraid to touch. Afraid to push passed some boundary he isn’t aware of. His hand hovers uncertainly before Markus gently grabs both and places them on his sides. 

“You can touch me. Please, I want you to touch me.”

So Connor does, running his hands curiously over Markus’s sides, his back, his arms, all while exploring Markus’s mouth with his tongue. His sensors present things for him to analyze, but he shuts them down. He doesn’t want any distractions from this moment. 

Markus tries to move closer by hooking his legs over Connor’s but ends up bashing his knee on the underside of the piano. Connor pulls back immediately when he hears the thud of it.

“Are you okay?”

Markus nods. “I’m fine. I’d be better if we had more space.”

Markus doesn’t seem to be in too much of a hurry to relocate, already leaning back in to trail kisses across Connor’s jaw. 

Connor thinks more space is an amazing idea. With their current positions, it’s easy enough for Connor to hoist Markus up and maneuver away from the piano. Markus makes a noise of surprise, locking his legs around Connor’s waist.

“Is this okay?“ Connor asks, worried perhaps he overstepped by assuming Markus would welcome being picked up.

“ _Yes._ Holy shit.” Connor files away how flustered Markus sounds for further investigation. 

“If you move us to the bedroom, it’ll be the second best thing you’ve done with me today.”

Connor stars heading that direction.

“What would be the first?” Connor asks curiously.

Markus smirks. 

“Hopefully we haven’t done it yet,” he replies before leaning in to kiss Connor again.

Connor unintentionally tightens his grip on Markus’s thighs, thinking of all the things he might mean by that. Connor fumbles his way to Markus’s bedroom, carefully setting Markus down on the mostly decorative bed in the room.

Markus pulls on Connor’s shirt as soon as Connor sets him down. Connor hovers over him, diligently trying not to put any weight on him. Markus isn’t even a full two inches taller than Connor and only slightly broader. Connor doesn’t want to cause the other any discomfort.

Clearly this isn’t what Markus wants because he huffs, tugging on Connor’s shirt impatiently. 

“Come on, Connor.”

Connor settles on top of him gently as Markus tangles his finger’s in Connor’s hair.

These kisses are more urgent, filled with promise. Connor presses into Markus more firmly, sliding a thigh between Markus’s legs.

Markus gasps before using his grip on Connor’s hair to pull him back delicately. 

“You never answered the question, you know.”

Connor makes a noise, something frustrated and on the edge of a whine, when Markus holds him in place and won’t let him lean back in.

“What question?”

“What do you want?” 

“You. I want you,” Connor breathes.

Markus leans up and kisses him, a soft peck like a reward, before pulling away with a hum.

“I need you to be specific, Connor. Me what? You want to do something to me? You want me to do something to you? We won’t do anything you aren’t completely comfortable with.”

Connor shakes his head as much as Markus’s careful grip will allow. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

Markus lets go of his hair to gently run his fingers across his scalp reassuringly. “It’s okay. You’re okay, Connor. You’re doing good.”

Something hot fissures through his systems, and he shudders. 

Markus smiles at him softly. “How about I tell you some of the things I want, and then maybe you’ll have some more ideas.”

Connor nods eagerly. 

“Okay, but first I need you to understand that I’m not expecting anything. I won’t do anything you don’t agree to, and I trust that you won’t do anything I don’t agree to.”

“Of course not. I would never,” Connor promises.

Markus kisses him softly before pulling back. “I want to touch you, and I want you to touch me. I want to see you; all of you. I want you to hold me down. I want you to talk to me through whatever we end up doing. Good so far?”

Connor nods, dazed. “Yeah.”

“You think of anything?”

Connor hesitates for a moment. “I want to interface.”

Markus reaches for him instantly, but Connor pulls his chin away before Markus can make contact. 

“I’ve done some things in the service of CyberLife that I’m not proud of. In fact, perhaps you should not be under me for this. I don’t want you to feel trapped in the event that you wish to remove yourself from close proximity if you see something from me that is disagreeable.”

Markus reaches for him slowly, and Connor doesn’t pull away this time. He leans his face into Markus’s palm, closing his eyes.

“Oh Connor. You’re not who you were then. You’re free now, but if it’ll make you more comfortable, we can move.”

“I want you to be on top, please. That way I am in the vulnerable position, and you have control of the situation.”

Connor rolls off Markus, watching Markus nervously as he sits up. 

“Are you sure? We can just sit like this, side by side.”

“I’m sure.”

Markus settles onto him carefully, staring intently into his face.

“We don’t have to do this. We don’t have to do anything at all.”

“I want to,” Connor promises because it’s true. He’s afraid, but it’s okay. He wants that level of connection. He wants that with Markus. 

Markus kisses him slowly, tangling their fingers together and opening a connection for Connor to complete.

It’s nothing like the times Connor has done this before. There’s no fear or pain in this connection. Markus is completely open to him, welcoming Connor’s presence into his systems eagerly. 

Connor doesn’t go riffling through everything the way he wants to. He holds back at the surface, letting Markus show him things as he sees fit. 

Carl. Leo in the studio. The junkyard, and the rain. Piecing himself together again. All these obstacles he overcame. 

All Connor has to offer are the terrible things he’s done.

Connor decides it’s best if he shows Markus the worst of himself first, before Markus finds it for himself. 

Connor lays it all out for Markus to see, silently watching as Markus circles through those memories without comment.

Markus eventually pulls away, the connection between them fading, leaving Connor with just the rumbling disquiet of his own thoughts. 

“Connor. _Connor_. You’re amazing, and you don’t even realize. All the programing you tore through, all the instincts you fought against to help us. You’re _beautiful_. Thank you for showing me.”

“I was afraid you’d hate me,” Connor says, staring up at Markus as the other android tenderly touches his face.

“Never,” Markus promises. 

“I didn’t realize what you went through before you made it to Jericho,” Connor admits. “I’m sorry. I wish that had never happened to you.” 

“I appreciate that. It worked out, though. I’m here. If it hadn’t happened, I never would have met you.”

There’s nothing for Connor to do but kiss him after that. 

“I have a better idea of what you want, but I’d really like for you to tell me something,” Markus says, pinning Connor under him easily. 

Connor lets himself relax back into the bed. “I just don’t want to think anymore. I want to be with you, however I can.”

Markus nods. “I can do that. I’ll take care of you. Let me take care of you.”

It’s not always perfect, the thing between them. Connor still struggles with what he’s feeling. Still doesn’t always know how to express himself or ask for what he wants. Sometimes Markus makes remarks about the legal system that Connor feels are unfair. Markus won’t accept security details without an argument that puts them both in bad moods.

Nothing is perfect, but Connor wouldn’t trade his life now for anything.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments always welcome. Have a lovely day. <3


End file.
